“Now then,” he said, “you know the truth. It’s all over Will, lad. But for you, I should have been drowned before. You are young and strong; I know you can swim. This water’s nowt to you. Go, dear lad, and save your life. Don’t look back once to see me die. It would come harder if I thought you did. There,” he gasped, as a wave lapped close to his lips once more, “think of your own self now. I have had my day, and ended badly. Your time has all to come. Will, lad, bad as I have been, can you grip my hand once more?”
“Only in my heart! If I let go, we both shall drown. There! Cheer up! Help must come soon.”
“Not for me. Quick, swim for your life. Good-bye!”
“What, and leave you here to drown? Not if I know it!”
“What, after all that I have done?”
“Yes; I couldn’t leave you even now. I tell you, help must come, and—there, what did I say?”
At that moment, the artist’s cheery voice sounded from close at hand, and, directly after, he and two more of the mill hands were helping to free the wretched prisoner from his wooden bonds.